


next year all our troubles will be out of sight

by singingintime (laulan)



Series: Stars and Planets 'Verse [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Music, Christmas, Families of Choice, Friendship, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Musicians, Singing, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/singingintime
Summary: She comes up behind Jim and breaks the silence, sliding her arms right around him and holding him close to her heart where he and Spock both belong.  Taking comfort from the solid, warm feel of him as he leans back against her with a sigh, and taking in Spock's face on the screen."We both miss you," she admits.  "We're a couple of hot messes without you, baby.""I doubt that," Spock says, a tiny smile twitching over his lips. "I certainly understand the sentiment, however." He pauses, and she can see him sigh, very slightly.  "I miss you both very much, as well."





	next year all our troubles will be out of sight

**Author's Note:**

> Original note: From my meme that I've been so friggin' slow with. [](https://rosepetalfall.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://rosepetalfall.livejournal.com/)**rosepetalfall** asked for: " _Spock/Kirk in the Symphony Universe, but a couple of years later? And narrated by Uhura?_ " And apparently my brain decided it wanted something to do with Christmas. *facepalm* So this is 1.5-ish years later in the Stars and Planets 'verse, Christmastime. (In October, you "lucky" people.) I'M SORRY, it's kind of horrifically fluffy. D:

It's two in the afternoon and it's already getting murky grey outside, sun tipping down low near the horizon. Nyota squints out of the window at the lattice-work of pretty rooftops and hugs her stomach, just taking it in.

She's sleepy and achy, and just beginning to feel hunger creeping in on the edge of everything, but god, is this city ever beautiful. It takes her fucking breath away, every time. Even when the weather should be making everything feel so cramped and flat, it's just so gorgeous. Lit up like a Christmas card, all those pretty little points of light. She can't help but trace the their reflections on the cobbled streets, and notice the way the bare arms of the trees look so striking against the sky; parcel the memory up carefully to hold close and look at later.

It's cold by the window, though--her breath's fogging up the glass, and she can feel the heat creeping out of her bones--so after a minute, she shivers a little and steps away from the postcard-perfect view, blinking her eyes shut. She feels like going back to bed and curling up nice and warm underneath the covers, but she's too sore and rigidly awake for that. _Jetlag_ , she thinks for what feels like the millionth time, and _cramps_.

She wraps the blanket she dragged out of the bedroom more tightly around her shoulders and heads over to the little kitchenette, entertaining thoughts of eggs and toast and milky coffee. There's a note pinned to the tiny fridge in explosively scribbly handwriting that stops her in her tracks, though. She snorts to herself, shaking her head, and leans closer to read it.  
_  
Gone 4 food, we're out of coffee & good stuff, _it says. _Call if you want anything besides baguettes, brie, and beer. (OK, probably cheap wine, but I liked the alliteration. (Don't give me that look. (How many parentheses do you think I can get away with before you smack me?)))_

 _xoxox your favorite, Jim_  
  
She laughs softly to herself. "Crazy asshole," she murmurs, and imagines how he'd stick his tongue out at her if he were here to hear that.  
  
Her brain--a little slow this afternoon--catches up with her, and reminds her that this means there's no coffee. She wrinkles her nose at the fridge, then shuffles over to the electric kettle to make tea instead, hopping up on the counter to wait for it to boil. She needs _some_ kind of hot drink. She's got aches from hell, and her body's crying out for something warm.

She leans her head back against the cheap plastic cupboards and closes her eyes while it bubbles beside her, just letting herself relax a little. Because god, these past few days have been such a fucking nightmare, in spite of the beauty of the city outside. Sometimes she hates being a musician. You're always broke as all fuck and running to get somewhere by some time, missing your mark more often than not. These past few weeks have been no exception, for her--far away from people, uncertain about everything. Feeling like, _when is this going to get easy_? _When am I going to be doing this_ right _?_

Then again, she thinks, stretching, you get to do what you love every day, which is kind of a huge and glorious miracle. She gets to sing any time she wants, and sometimes people even pay her for it. Most of the time, that outweighs the awful parts by about about ten metric ton.

A rash of coughing from the hallway outside the door pulls her out of her thoughts. She opens her eyes. It's probably Jim coming up--he's got a cold. He's got a cold, she's on her period, and Spock's stuck in Vienna. __  
  
Merry Christmas, she thinks wryly to herself.

The door bangs open because Jim can't ever be quiet about anything. "Hey," she hears him call, rasping a little, rustling groceries. "You up, Nyota?"

"In the kitchen," she calls back. "You want some tea or should we just wait for coffee?

"Ugh," says Jim, coming in, "I've had enough of that gross sick-tea for now. I'll stick with coffee." He sets the bags on the counter and smiles blearily up at her. "Afternoon, by the way. Good nap?"

She yawns. "Until the part where I woke up and was still tired and hurt like hell? Great nap. By the way, tell me you didn't forget to get me some chocolate and Advil I won't murder you."

He grins and fishes said items out of his inner coat pocket. "My hero," she says, smiling. She pops two of the Advil in her mouth and swallows dry with a wince, and reaches up to poke him in the leg with her toes. "How was the outside world?"

Jim sniffs and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. "Cold. Wet. Crowded. Fuck, I hate Paris," he mutters.

Nyota breathes out a laugh. "No you don't," she says softly, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

He snuggles into her side, curls his head into her neck. "I totally do," he argues into her shirt over a yawn. "Totally, totally do. Paris is going on my shit-list this year."

"Oh, is it," she murmurs, biting her lip in amusement and rubbing his cold ear.

"Rrraagh, you're doing that _humoring_ thing," he mumbles, eyes fluttering open to peer up at her reproachfully. "You don't seem to understand that I'm totally 100% serious. If I was Godzilla? Paris would totally be in ruins right now."

They stare at each other for a second; she cracks first, laughing into his hair. She can feel his grin at her shoulder. She smacks him lightly on the back after a minute, then slides slowly off the counter to take the coffee grounds out of the bag. While she starts making the coffee, he cuts the baguette (yeah, he _would_ actually buy one, that's Jim to a T) and spreads chunks of brie haphazardly over the pieces.

She can feel the Advil setting in, soothing the hot pull in her back. It's good, better. She starts feeling like she can string real thoughts together again, and as she breaks her chocolate into pieces and eats them one by one, she finds herself thinking about her best friend.

He'll be at the train station now--after they figured out he wouldn't be able to make it _today_ as planned (no planes are flying out, not with the ice on the runways), he went that flat sort of determined that he gets and said, "I shall make arrangements to be there as soon as possible." Which apparently means an overnight train, Vienna to Paris. Rattling through the cold night to get to her and Jim in this poky little apartment they rented for two weeks--the one they saved for for months just so they could be _here_ , just so they could get somewhere the three of them could be _together_ for a few days in the middle of all their hectic schedules.

"First Christmas we've spent apart since freshman year, you know that?" she asks out loud.

"No shit. Really?" Jim asks softly.

"Mmhmm." She closes her eyes and leans back against the fridge, smiling at the memory. "I invited him over on a whim. I mean, we were friends and all, but I think everybody assumes everybody else is doing family stuff during the holidays, especially around the 25th. But when I asked him about his plans for the holidays, he shrugged--you know that one, that one that says _it really is of no consequence to me_ \--" she flicks her eyes open and he's grinning, he knows exactly what she's talking about-- "and said he and his father would probably go to the New Years' dinner at the embassy as usual."

Jim whistles slowly, brows raised.

"Yeah. That's what I thought, too--lonely break. So I told him to come over on Christmas for dinner." She stretches out her toes, wiggles them on the creepy patterned linoleum. Remembers with a little smile the giddy nervousness of it all. How much she wanted it to work, how much she told herself not to hope for it. "God, you should've seen my Grandma. She fell totally in love with him. By the end of the night, she was ready to adopt him."

"Man," Jim says. "I wish I'd known you guys in high school."

She has to laugh, picturing teenage Jim in the hallways of their school with his leather jacket and cocky grin. "Oh, sweetheart. We probably would've hated you."

Jim grins. "Is there any universe where you didn't start out hating me?" he teases, waving a piece of bread at her in invitation. She takes it, rolling her eyes at him.

"Maybe one in which you didn't get off on the wrong foot, but that's unlikely."

"Oh, you wound me!" he says, slapping a hand to his chest theatrically and pouting when she rolls her eyes. He sobers then, though, putting the bread away. "Seriously. Making all those traditions with you guys woulda been fun. Christmas at my house was always--weird."

"Yeah?" she asks, shifting up and getting a couple of the ugly mugs out for the coffee that's almost ready.

He pulls his lower lip under his teeth and shrugs. "Bones used to fuck off back to Georgia with his family at Christmas, so I was kinda stuck at home." A little twist of a smile distorts his face. "And since I was always making such a big deal of not being there, it was kinda awkward when I was," he goes on, mischief slipping back into his voice. "Gave Frank hell for a lot of it."

"Bastard deserved it," she says, aiming for bland and not mama-bear, like she gets when someone she loves has been shortchanged. She knows she's missed the mark, though, when it comes out rough and sharp. She doesn't care too much; bastard _did_ deserve it. Anyone who doesn't look at Jim and see his stupid heart of gold, just labels him _delinquent_ and moves on without challenging themselves to really think about anything, deserves a smack or two.

She can barely catch the edge of his smile from this angle--slow and sweet, like a little boy's. "You guys are too good to me," he jokes, but it's a little too gentle to be convincing.

She lets him take it away from the heaviness anyway. "Someone pays us to be," she offers loftily, kicking the back of his thigh. "It's all a conspiracy, Jimmyboy."

Her phone buzzes then, interrupting any retort Jim might've had. She flicks it open, and flat-out grins at what she sees.

 **From: Spock**  
I have my laptop open. Would you like to videochat for a few minutes?

 **Received:** Dec. 25, 2:18 p

 _Give me 1sec <3,_ she texts back. "Spock's gonna call," she says out loud; watches the way Jim's spine tightens up and has to try not to smile at how obvious he is. "Yeah. C'mon, you."

They go in the living room to take the call on her computer, where they can hunch over the busted-up couch together. Spock--nothing if not punctual--calls the moment they've gotten comfortable, Nyota's feet shoved under Jim's thigh for warmth.  
  
Nyota clicks through, and it's so good to see his face, even blurry and pixelated--her heart gives this little leap. "Hi, sweetheart," she says through a huge grin. "Oh god, you look exhausted." He does, too--dark circles smudged under his eyes, his shoulders drooping a little. No less alive or determined than usual, though.

"Lovely to see you as well, dearest," he says dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Jim."

"Hi," Jim says, rasping again but grinning.

Spock frowns. "You have not been taking care of yourself adequately, it appears," he scolds.

"'m better than I sound," Jim argues through his smile. "How's Vienna?"

"Cold," says Spock, shrugging slightly. "And Paris? How are the two of you managing?"

"Cold here, too," says Nyota, laughing. "Fancy that. Beautiful, though, like always. And we're doing okay--wait till you see the apartment though, it's janky as all hell."  
  
"Hey, brb," says Jim, shoving off the couch and stretching. "'m'unna get us that coffee. Sugar?"  
  
"No thanks," she says, smiling up at him.  
  
She knows what he's doing--giving her and Spock a minute. It's nothing they've ever talked about, officially, but he always honors that she and Spock are just as much of an entity as Spock and _Jim_ are, and gives them time alone to be best friends like Nyota gives him and Spock time alone to be ridiculously made for each other. He _gets_ it, and she loves that about Jim, more than she can say. (Almost enough to forgive him for saying "brb" out loud.)

It's a funny balance to hit, the three of them, but somehow it just works.

She snuggles into the couch and talks to her best friend for a bit, just light little stuff: weather, how much trains stations suck, whether he's eating enough. Jim comes back with the coffee after a bit, and the three of them debate for a minute the merits of teleportation. She feigns desire for another piece of bread and brie, then, and closes the door to the kitchen. She chews slowly and carefully, and rinses off the cutting board for good measure.

Jim's slumped over when she comes back out, shoulders curled high up by his ears like protection. "Yeah," he's sighing. "I just--miss you, you know?"

Nyota hears the edge in that--the edge they've all had in them for weeks, _months_ , the edge today was supposed to melt away--and feels an ache start in her stomach. She sort of can't stand it.

She comes up behind Jim and breaks the silence, sliding her arms right around him and holding him close to her heart where he and Spock both belong. Taking comfort from the solid, warm feel of him as he leans back against her with a sigh, and taking in Spock's face on the screen.

"We both miss you," she admits. "We're a couple of hot messes without you, baby."

"I doubt that," Spock says, a tiny smile twitching over his lips. "I certainly understand the sentiment, however." He pauses, and she can see him sigh, very slightly. "I miss you both very much, as well."

He has this way of speaking, sometimes, that just takes all the other noise out of a room. This way of adding weight to words that just makes it so _clear_ that he's genuine, that he means each one of them with every piece of himself. He's speaking that way now: low, soft, solemn. Truthful.

Nyota feels that warm flush of love that's as familiar as breathing start up under her ribs, and smiles a little, thinking of all the Christmases they've spent together. Thinking of one thing in particular.

As a general rule, Spock isn't too fond of modern Christmas carols. "They are trite," he told her the first time she asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. "While I may not agree with the religious overtones of older madrigals, for example, I can still appreciate their beauty. 'Santa Baby,' however?" A shake of his head. "No redeeming qualities whatsoever."

There's one, though--one of Nyota's favorites--that he loves as much as she does, one that's good for moments like this.

So, " _Someday soon, we all will be together,"_ she starts, _mezzopiano._ _"If the fates allow_. _Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow... "_

She lets the note hang in the air for a long moment, soft and endless, then she makes herself smile, and lets free the last little piece: " _So have yourself a merry little Christmas, now_."

There's a bittersweet hold of silence between them for a moment--two heartbeats, four--and then Jim's scrubbing a hand across his eyes and muttering, "Fuck, don't make me cry." He lets out a shaky laugh and adds, too-cheerful, "I'll lose all my macho cred for like, ever."

Nyota just squeezes him tighter, swallowing back her own tears. Spock doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to. His dark eyes are saying it all without words. How much he wants to be there, how much this actually matters to him.

"It's true, though," she says. "Soon. Tomorrow, you guys. Tomorrow we get to do Christmas all over again because we're just that awesome." She blinks hard.  
  
"An excellent interpretation," says Spock, softly. He opens his mouth to say something more, but then something on his face shifts and he's tilting his head, then, to listen to an announcement. "Ah," he says after a moment. "My train has arrived in the station." He pauses. "I ought to go."  
  
"Cool," says Jim, half-smiling. "Look, promise to sleep on there, okay? For me. Totally selfish request, here. Don't just read research papers all night."  
  
Spock rolls his eyes slightly. "Yes, Jim."

"Hey, listen to him, he's not always full of shit," Nyota says, grinning at Jim's outraged noise. "And Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she says, leaning forward over Jim's shoulder to kiss the screen. "We'll see you bright and early."

"Merry Christmas, Nyota. Jim."

"Merry Christmas, Spock. Hurry the fuck over here," Jim mumbles, reaching out to press his fingers briefly to the screen.

Spock nods, and the call cuts.  
  
Weirdly, the room seems too quiet, too abruptly silent. Nyota bites her lip and kisses Jim's cheek. "Tomorrow," she says again, reassuring them both.

Jim nods, his hair brushing her skin. "God, am I pathetic or what?" he says. He rubs his mouth with his hand. "Can't even last like, a month. Just, he just, he makes me so _stupid_ , Nyota. I wanted this to be--" he breaks off, shaking his head and dragging a hand through his hair.

 _I know_ , she thinks of saying. _Me too_.

This past year hasn't been easy for any of them--trying to figure out where to go from here, how to keep any of the seven of them together--and they could've used today, that's all. They could've used a little bit of life going perfectly smooth, one thing they could look to in the middle of all the craziness and hold on to.

But hey, she thinks. That's not what happened. And they'll get through it, anyway--she knows they will, deep in her bones. He knows it, too, really. They're strong. They're stubborn. They're never giving up, pretty much.

"Loving people like you love him is never pathetic," she settles for saying, softly, and waits for his nod, for the long sigh that says he's pulling himself out of it. She punches his shoulder teasingly, then. "Now c'mon, you. We're gonna put on some Christmas music and get drunk off your stupid cheap wine, and I'm gonna kick your ass at Scrabble. We're gonna have an awesome night, and then--and then an even better morning." She musses up his hair. "Sound good?"

He leans his head back to smile up at her, small but bright. "Yeah," he tells her, "sounds perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: This story is an old work, so there's probably parts of it that would make me wince or that I would disagree with now. However, I'm not going to go back and edit it (unless something sticks out to me egregiously) because this is meant to be a record of the story I wrote at the time more than anything else. I'm not really looking for detailed constructive criticism on this story for those reasons, but if something in it seems harmful, feel free to let me know and I'll see what I can do to address it. <3


End file.
